


Storms of Winter

by Molly



Category: The Sentinel
Genre: M/M, Schmoop, Slash, humor first-time season:two, sentinel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-09-21
Updated: 2008-09-21
Packaged: 2017-10-02 00:39:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,377
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/807
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Molly/pseuds/Molly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>In which Jim and Blair go camping and absolutely nothing goes wrong. </i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Storms of Winter

Silence.

Almost.

There was still the chill wind soughing through the uppermost branches of the trees, and leaves whispering down through cool, wintry air to the forest floor. There was still the crackling and popping of wood in the carefully banked fire they'd built. Crickets sang in darkness beyond the orange glow of the flames, and winging past, aloft on a slowly rising column of air, a strange nightbird called again, and again, and again...unanswered, but undaunted all the same. Small nocturnal animals rooted about just beyond the camp, their soft grunts and whuffing breath all but inaudible as they passed, unseen, on errands unknown and unknowable.

The night was alive with sound, but between the two of them, where it most counted, there was silence.

It was sweet, and comfortable, and Jim Ellison had no desire to break it.

  
   


* * *

  
   


Silence.

For Blair, anyway, or almost silence, which was close enough that for him, it made no difference. He wondered, though, what Jim heard that made him smile like that... with his whole face, eyes sparkling and crinkled at the corners, dimples deepening, peace and good humor flowing out of him like a warm, bright tide. Sentinel senses must turn the night into a tapestry, Blair thought; the gentle ache of envy that thrummed in his chest was almost sweet in its familiarity. So much he would never understand, so much he could only know vicariously.

Easily, Blair's lips curved into a smile. Out of all of it, only Jim truly called to him, only Jim commanded his attention. No sentinel could know more about the man than Blair did, and so the envy was a passing visitor, there and gone between one breath and the next. Jim possessed five heightened senses, through which the world was revealed to him in vivid, sometimes consuming detail...but Blair possessed a heightened sense of _Jim_, and through that his world was made real and complete. Nothing could shake that, nothing could change it. Nothing could make the bond between them anything less than what it was.

Not even the thing Blair had come here, tonight, to do.

  
   


* * *

  
   


The fire burned low, little left but redly glowing embers; Jim set another branch over the coals, and watched as bright orange sparks leapt and danced up into the night sky. The wind took them, not far, cooling them to ashes and scattering them so distant even Jim couldn't see where they fell. There was a tang to the air, a sharp scent of ozone and water.

Storm coming, Jim thought. And then he smiled at the irony of his own inner voice, warning him of one storm and saying nothing, nothing, of the other that haunted the horizon. One came howling from the mountains, still perhaps a day distant, far enough that the sentinel part of him rested easy. The other...

The other was coming from within, coming fast, and its strength inspired both awe and apprehension in the vaguely humbled part of him that was just Jim Ellison.

He took a sip from the mug in his hands -- warm, sweet tea steeped over the fire just moments ago -- and lifted his eyes over its rim to study his partner. Faded, worn jeans and battered hiking boots, a dark green t-shirt under heavy, blue and green flannel, hair tied back with a leather thong and glasses that never seemed to stay where Blair wanted them to... he was the picture of ease, seated on a fallen log with his elbows resting on his kneecaps, leaning forward to catch the radiant heat from the fire. The light caressed him, turned him fey in the flickering glow, something not quite of this world but solidly, startlingly real.

The impact of his beauty was not negligible, and in the limitless silence of this one, timeless moment, Jim didn't even try to hide it.

Not here. Not now.

Not anymore.

  
   


* * *

  
   


Feeling eyes on him, feeling warmed by more than the fire, Blair looked up and met the gaze he knew was waiting for him. There was more to Jim's eyes than blue, more than grey, more than depth. Getting lost in the look, Blair let himself be drawn into it, unresisting.

He didn't know why Jim had insisted they come here now, but the place suited him, suited his purpose somehow. It was late for winter, early for spring -- chill, but still surprisingly mild for the season. The mountains were good for the two of them, and even here in the foothills the territory was familiar, rocks and streams and woods echoing with a thousand different memories. They came here often to wind down, sometimes with Simon but mostly, mostly alone. Something about the place had put down deep roots in Blair's heart, and in Jim's too, he thought. Binding them together through a common tie to the land.

On one level, sentinel and guide.

On another, two men who had been friends far too long for dishonesty to taint the comfortable, complex understanding between them.

Blair rose from his place near the flames, and ambled slowly into the darkness. A small stream flowed and bubbled nearby, and he washed his mug slowly, squatting carefully in the damp grass at the water's edge. Icy cold flowed over his hands, slipping between his fingers, sapping warmth carefully hoarded earlier beside the fire.

A second later, strong fingers were twining with his own, freeing the mug as a gentle hand nudged Blair back. A moment of startlement, then slightly embarrassed amusement as Jim took over the task.

"I don't mind the cold so much," Jim said quietly, eyes gleaming crystal blue in the moonlight. "Go back to the fire. You'll freeze out here."

Blair wiped his hands on his jeans, then took the towel Jim offered to finish the job. He was shaking, not just from the cold. Jim's hand against his had lifted his heart, filled it, and the emotion left him breathless. Strong, and weak...all at the same time. "Thanks," he said, his voice as soft as Jim's had been, if not quite as steady.

"Not a problem, Chief," Jim said, eyes never leaving Blair's for an instant. "Go get warm."

Quietly, already warm from the clear evidence of Jim's concern, Blair went.

  
   


* * *

  
   


Jim made short work of both mugs, enjoying the moment of solitude. The peace of the setting and the simplicity of the task seeped into him, infusing him with a depth of calm he missed in the tense, close confines of the city. Blair was right; they needed these breaks to clear out the cobwebs, let a little light into the dark corners of their minds. They needed to make this connection, with the land and with one another.

With an ease that still surprised him, Jim cast his hearing back through the woods to the camp, tracing Blair's progress. His guide moved through the camp with practiced care, whistling tunelessly under his breath, putting things away for the night. The rest of the food was stowed away, the fire fed and banked again. With a smile, Jim recognized a distinctive plastic rustle and the sound of a blade against wood. The whistling faded into soft humming -- not even a song really, just sweet, quiet music -- as Blair whittled points onto a pair of long, slender sticks.

"The marshmallows aren't long for this world, Jim," Blair said, his voice just loud enough to carry through the trees on the wind. "You planning on coming back tonight?"

Chuckling to himself, Jim levered himself up from the bank and gathered their mugs in one hand. The darkness was chill, and camp was warm, and Blair was there.

No contest.

  
   


* * *

  
   


Blair didn't look up as Jim made his way back into the circle of light. He'd heard his friend coming up the path, and his heart had sped at the sound. His breathing was...a little fast. Not quite even. Perched on his sleeping bag, back against the log he'd used as a stool earlier, Blair let the heat of the fire and the glow of its light wrap him in comfort and calm. This was important...sacred...and for his own sake as well as Jim's, he needed his mind clear.

On his way past their tent, Jim snagged a soft, woolen blanket from his bed roll. Standing beside his partner, blue eyes locked with blue, he offered it wordlessly. The small, strange smile that curved his lips fell on Blair like a silent benediction.

"Thanks," Blair said quietly. Then -- deep, fortifying breath -- "Join me?"

Jim let out a small breath of his own, a puff of white mist flaring from his lips. "Sure there's room?"

"We'll manage," Blair said, casual, nonchalant.

Jim eased himself down onto the log, took the blanket back, and settled it over Blair's shoulders. "Can't have you getting sick," he said by way of explanation, his voice both gruff and kind.

"What about you?"

"Sentinels don't get sick."

Blair cocked an eye toward his partner and grinned, handing him a stick with a fat white marshmallow at the end. "Who told you that?"

"Spirit guide," Jim said amiably.

"Uh-huh."

"He also told me to bet on the Jags next week."

Laughter spilled from Blair's throat on a bright wave, drifting up into the night. "Friendly guy."

"For a shapeshifter," Jim agreed complacently. He set his marshmallow on fire, then blew it out and popped it into his mouth. "This was a good idea," he said around a mouthful of charred sweetness.

"All my ideas are good ideas."

Jim grinned. "Who told you that?"

"Simon."

Laughter rang out again, Blair unable to resist joining in as Jim's flowed around them like deep, sweet music.

  
   


* * *

  
   


The wind shifted sometime before they hit the bottom of the bag, and both men moved out of the smoke by mutual, unspoken consent. Jim sat on his own sleeping roll, knees drawn up almost to his chest as a prop for his arms; Blair fell into a lotus position close by, just a little closer to the flames. Long moments passed in companionable silence, night drifting toward morning with lazy determination.

Jim felt no inclination to seek the relative warmth of their tent, and Blair seemed content to poke quietly at the fire with a long branch, stirring the glowing embers as the flames slowly subsided. A shiver passed through the younger man, totally ignored; shaking his head, Jim reached down to settle the blanket more snugly around Blair's shoulders.

He didn't miss the sudden stillness as Blair's breath caught and held, or the rapid, thundering race of his pulse. Lingering, Jim's fingers caught in the tangled curls of his friend's hair.

"Sorry," Jim said hoarsely, his heart in his throat. "Let me just...here..." He fell silent, working his long, calloused fingers free of soft strands that seemed determined to hold him. His skin warmed in the soft, covering length, and his own breath caught suddenly in his chest.

Blair said nothing; he seemed frozen, a brightly burnished statue singing with tension. Jim's efforts freed his hand, but not his attention or concern.

That was all for Blair.

"Jim." Voice soft as warm rain, thick and rich as honey. His name on Blair's lips was somehow different now, more complex. The word trembled, deep with meanings only half-grasped now in the fading light of the fire.

Unable to speak, barely able to breathe, Jim raised his hand again and deliberately sank it deep into his friend's dark hair.

  
   


* * *

  
   


The sound he made was soft, low, but Blair knew Jim heard it because the fingers at the nape of his neck tensed, and an answering intake of breath whispered above him. It was a cusp, a brink, an eternal moment of possibility. Braced at the edge of change, electric fear and hope and desire raced through Blair on a tide of adrenaline, stealing his composure.

For one shining second, the twin potentials of retreat and advance merged in a fever of certainty and confusion. Blair held his breath, and waited for courage...

...and found it, with a sudden glance upward into Jim's warm, bright eyes.

Feeling dizzy, but more deeply aware of himself than he could ever remember being before, Blair shifted -- just an inch -- and let his head fall back into the warm, gentle support of Jim's hand.

  
   


* * *

  
   


Jim's heart nearly broke with the simplicity of Blair's consent. His hand shook as Blair pressed back into it, and he let out the breath he'd been holding in a rush of bright fog. The moment of choice was behind them, fears and uncertainties melting away as something not unlike joy surged in Jim's chest. More certain now, he raked his fingers through his partner's hair and rubbed gently at his scalp, feeling the small muscles beneath the skin slowly unknotting, giving way. The freedom to touch carried with it an intensity of emotion that defied classification; it just was, and it was good, and warm, and Jim surrendered to it fearlessly.

A sigh, soft and content, escaped Jim, and he let his hand still, heavy and gentle, against the nape of Blair's neck. Beneath the fall of dark curls, his fingers stroked lightly, gingerly, over soft skin. Blair shivered under the touch, and tilted his head forward to offer more of himself to the caress.

Time lengthened and filled with the infinite softness of touch.

  
   


* * *

  
   


"Jim." Blair loved the way the name felt in his mouth, on his lips. It blended into the quiet like a natural part of the night. He whispered Jim's name again, enjoying the sound of it, and lost track of what he'd wanted to say.

The hand in his hair stilled, then moved, shifting with the other to clasp Blair's shoulders and turn them. Blair found himself on his knees before Jim, eyes level with his partner's chest, hands resting lightly on the denim-clad thighs that bracketed his body.

He looked up, and his gaze was caught by a hundred deep blue questions.

Voice unsteady, eyes calm, Blair answered.

"I came here...for this," he said softly. "It's new. Different. Crazy, Jim, I _know_. But you --"

"Had a right to know." Jim smiled, slow and easy, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "So do you." A deep breath filled Jim's chest, then another, and one finger lifted to trace the high ridge of Blair's cheekbone, ambered by the firelight. "I _brought _you here for this. Wanted to...ask you. If it was okay. I thought, maybe yes, but I wasn't sure...and you never said..."

"Couldn't. Couldn't risk it." Blair's breath caught in his throat, almost a sob, and he closed his eyes against the bright, solid beauty of his best friend. "Couldn't lie to you, either," he whispered. "Not about this. It wasn't fair to you, to me. Too much between us for dishonesty."

"Thank you." His eyes fluttered open, surprised, locking with Jim's in a moment of confusion. "For the trust," Jim explained. His voice was deep, rough with emotion. "For not hiding."

"Goes both ways, man," Blair said softly. He reached up, and cupped Jim's angular jaw in one squarish, calloused palm. His thumb stroked lightly over the hollow of his friend's cheek, surprised at the contrast of bristles and softness. "Oh...." he rasped wonderingly, eyes closing at the surge of protectiveness, and possessiveness, that shot through him at the touch. "Jim."

Carefully, and slowly, Jim reached out for Blair and tugged him closer, into the circle of his arms. The strangeness of it was overwhelming, and for a moment Blair wasn't sure what to do with his arms. He closed them around Jim's waist, tentatively, testing, and rested his cheek against the hard, flannel-covered expanse of Jim's chest.

A second later, his eyes closed as a wave of dizziness rushed through him; his arms tightened, and Jim's did, and suddenly Jim's hands were in his hair again, tugging at it, drawing his head up.

"Blair." The word was ragged, Jim's voice as unsteady as his trembling hands.

"Yeah," Blair said, almost reverent in the quiet sweetness of the moment. "Please."

With a depth of care Blair hadn't known was possible, Jim drew him closer, until their lips -- almost -- met.

"Finally," Jim said softly, his breath bathing Blair's mouth in warmth.

And then he kissed him.

  
   


* * *

  
   


Silence.

Almost.

The slow, hitching sound of breath -- his and Blair's both of them, trying to breathe between kisses and words and smaller, more frantic sounds of mingled love and frustration. It was too soon for more than this, but they wanted it, and they knew it, and the gentle press of lips became a frantic, trembling exploration. Blair's hands came up to frame Jim's face, and their warmth infused the sentinel with courage; he drew Blair in closer, frighteningly close, and tasted the sweet softness of his partner's throat.

The gasp drawn from Blair's lips was almost lost in the sigh of the strong wind that swept around them. Jim drew back, feeling the trembling in the younger man's body, and fought for breath. He pressed his brow into the soft skin at the juncture of Blair's throat and shoulder, unwilling to deprive himself of the warmth and scent of his friend.

"Love you," he whispered into the heated space between them, chest heaving as he fought to keep his shaking under control. "God, Blair, I _love _you...."

"I know." Soothing hands stroked his hair, his neck, his shoulders, warmth seeping into him like a blessing. Blair's breath caught in his throat, and his voice shook as he spoke. He had to try it twice, clearing his throat as he tilted his head back and whispered it to the stars. "I love you, too. Can't seem to help it."

Jim smiled against Blair's skin. "Don't try," he ordered, then tightened his arms as his guide shook with laughter.

  
   


* * *

  
   


Epilogue:

Dawn found them twined together beside the roaring, rebuilt flames of the fire. It came rapidly, as such changes often did in the mountains, black fading to blue and then to a pinkish grey haze. Sudden, bright fire, rose and red and molten gold, shot through the early twilight...and then there came the sun, a shining disk of light, burning away everything but blue.

Bright, high, infinite blue.

"God, it's cold," Blair said into Jim's chest, his first words for hours.

Jim chuckled, drawing his partner's body even closer and tucking a blanket close around his throat. They'd considered zipping the sleeping bags together, but in the end had opted to share Jim's larger one and use Blair's for a buffer between themselves and the ground. The fire, a few blankets piled on top of them, the closeness of the down sleeping bag and the proximity of 200 lbs of sentinel-generated heat rendered Blair's complaint nothing if not unlikely. "Better?" he said, brushing a soft kiss into his friend's hair.

In answer, Jim's armful of guide sneezed. Messily. Three times, in rapid succession.

"Ick," Jim said complacently, reaching behind him to snag a towel from his pack. "I'm gonna take that as a 'no'."

"Sorry," Blair said. He accepted the towel and mended what he could of the damage he'd done before easing back into the warmth of his partner's arms.

Jim smiled, eyes closing, slowly becoming familiar with the sensation of having every damn thing in the world that he'd ever wanted.

Absolutely nothing beyond semi-serious nuzzling had happened during the night, due in part to Jim's desire to move slowly, carefully into this new level of sharing and in part to Blair's utter refusal to shed even one single layer of clothing. It wasn't _that _cold, but Blair wasn't budging, and all things considered it was probably for the best.

Neither of them had the faintest idea what to do with the other anyway, and in the woods, in the cold, fifty miles from the nearest drug store, a willingness to learn didn't count for much.

"This is good," Jim said quietly, opening his eyes to watch the mist of his breath vanish into the depths of the sky.

Blair just nodded, silent for once, the movement feathering fine strands of dark hair over Jim's throat.


End file.
